Alexander ignored her question, which meant that it was true. But she was too tired to get into a discussion about whether he over-relied on it for his studies. His defense was always that he had a prescription for it and never bought it illegally like every other college student. “It’s late, and you must be exhausted. You should get some sleep.” He then asked, “Do you plan on staying in the city because of the snow?”

“Well, since there’s no school tomorrow, I may just stay in the city for the long weekend,” she answered, ready to get off the phone. The couple said their perfunctory I-love-yous and good-nights, and soon Anna was all alone in the quiet of her room. The room that was hers and yet didn’t feel like it, since she was there so infrequently. Her parents were surprised when she told them at age fourteen that she had come to the decision that she wanted to go to high school in Greenwich instead of attending her choice of private schools in Manhattan. Her mother refused, mostly because it seemed like a monumental headache when it came to scheduling. But Anna’s father heard his daughter out and was touched by her emotional plea to be closer to her horses and dogs and in the end said they’d find a way to work it out. When Anna had left the room, she stood and listened by the door for a bit, but her mother’s first words were, “You know this is your fault, Edward. If you didn’t acquiesce to her every wish, she’d understand that she’s the child and we’re the parents who decide what’s best for her.” But her father told her mother their daughter was capable of making her own choices and they had to respect that about her. They didn’t want to raise a daughter who couldn’t think for herself, did they?

Anna put on her Prada lipstick-print silk pajamas, threw on a pair of pink bunny slippers that Steven had given her for her birthday last year, and decided to go see what company her brother was keeping at this late hour.

She walked down the dark hallway and found Steven was standing in the foyer with his back to her. Suddenly none other than Vronsky himself strutted out of the kitchen with a bottle of Fiji. She took two steps backward, bumped into a wall, and knocked a painting crooked. Not only that, but she let out an embarrassing little yelp that made both boys turn their heads and stare at her. In her bunny slippers.

“Oh my god, Anna, are you okay?” Vronsky asked, taking a step toward her.

“Me? Yes! So great. I mean, I’m fine. Hello.” She whipped around and busied herself by straightening the painting.